


Wellspring

by cinereous



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Filmed Sex, First Kiss, Get Together, Hand Jobs, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:13:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29417706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinereous/pseuds/cinereous
Summary: The day Yusuke showed up in his shop should have been like any other day. He hadn’t recognized him or known he was part of Akira’s group. He was just some kid wandering his shop in the same way every other clueless teenager would when they didn’t know shit about weaponry. It should have been like any other day, but Iwai was about to learn that nothing was ordinary when it concerned Kitagawa Yusuke.
Relationships: Iwai Munehisa/Kitagawa Yusuke
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Wellspring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxjar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxjar/gifts).



> This work was beta read by [habenaria_radiata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/habenaria_radiata) who is the best.

The day Yusuke showed up in his shop should have been like any other day. He hadn’t recognized him or known he was part of Akira’s group. He was just some kid wandering his shop in the same way every other clueless teenager would when they didn’t know shit about weaponry.

It had been a rainy day, rainy week really. The sort of overcast grey and wet that made days bleed together and colors fold in on themselves until the streets outside were little more than hazy oil slicks to be navigated more than traversed.

The kid had walked into his shop soaked to the bone and dripping on the tile, his blue hair plastered down and beading with droplets on the ends. The button down shirt he wore stuck to his frame and Iwai could admit that his first thought upon seeing him was not irritation to have his silence broken, but a near instant worry over whether this stranger was eating enough.

He was tall and willowy, gliding more than walking through the confined shop. For as graceful and elegant as he moved, Iwai couldn’t shake the feeling that he should be taking up more space. But he wasn’t.

Yusuke meandered and cooed under his breath, dragging faintly trembling, too pale fingertips along model swords and axes near the back. He shivered again and again under the air conditioning, and even from his place behind the register, Iwai could see the pretty way his lashes burned blue under the fluorescents and clumped together into little star points.

He was strange and off, but Iwai still had eyes. He was pretty too. 

He puttered around for almost twenty minutes before Iwai finally gave in to the irritation gnawing at him and rolled his eyes, calling out in a gruff voice. “Can I _help_ you?” Kaoru had always said his customer service voice could use some work, but Kaoru was off in the US for college and couldn’t be here to remind him.

The blue haired man startled, looking over so quickly Iwai could see the droplets of water cascade off his hair. 

“Oh. Yes!” he said, his entire face lighting up. His eyes were dark, the same color as the wet concrete outside, but somehow vibrant and clear. Iwai felt a sense of dread spread out in his stomach at how easily Yusuke seemed to shift in demeanor and enthusiasm, because that enthusiasm was now right in front of him and pressing delicate looking hands against the glass cases between them. 

"I'm looking to purchase armor. I'm doing a painting to reflect the true essence of a hero, and it's coming along beautifully, but I find myself struggling with the reflections in the metal. I'm in need of a reference and a friend of mine said that you could help me. Do you have anything like that? Something polished that reflects light and color well?"

What the fuck?

Iwai’s face sank into a frown, and he plucked the lollipop from his mouth so that he could speak uninhibited to this absolute weirdo.

“You want an expensive piece of armor so you can paint a picture?”

The kid didn’t even balk. In fact, his eyes shimmered all the brighter and those long fingers curled into passionate fists. “Yes. It affects the entire mood of the painting! My friend sent me some money for it and insisted that you would give me a discount if I could find what I was looking for.”

What the actual fuck?

He stood up slowly, realizing too late that this kid was still taller than him, but it hardly mattered. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared him down from the shadow of his hat. “Listen kid, your friend has a lotta balls tellin’ you that. Who is it?”

“Kurusu Akira. He worked for you a couple of years ago.”

And just like that...this bizarrely soft and not-quite-man became something else. Surprise and intrigue flooded through him. Akira still texted him periodically to let him know how he was and ask after him and Kaoru. He missed him more than he cared to admit, and it felt almost too strange to know that the man in front of him now was a link to Akira. Was likely an ex-Phantom Thief even.

That could be the only reason he walked around the counters and started waving a hand, gesturing for Yusuke to follow him. He led him to a caged off area after unlocking the padlock, and inside he pulled a mannequin forward from the darkened corner. It was his only real breastplate given he tended to like modern weaponry and equipment more, but it fit the bill. Iwai couldn’t help but wonder if Akira remembered it from working here.

It was a little dusty, but it still sported an impressive shine when he dragged his hand against it. “Little wipe down and buff, and this should do the trick. What d’you think?”

Yusuke’s eyes were wide and full of wonder, pulling out an obscene stack of bills from his back pocket and thrusting them forwards like they were a bouquet of flowers.

“I’ll take it!”

\-----

In the end, Iwai had given him the discount. Of course, he had. He could count the number of people he trusted on one hand, and Akira was one of them. He ate dinner that night standing over his kitchen sink to avoid crumbs and texting his old employee questions and giving him a hard time for being friends with such a weirdo.

Akira, for his part, was nothing but complimentary over Yusuke. He gushed at length over his artwork and loyalty and strength. He sent Iwai links to photo galleries of his work and even told him a goofy story about a beach trip and lobsters.

It was the most Akira had said to him in months, and Iwai was grateful for the rekindle of their friendship in this way. He was lonelier than he cared to admit with Kaoru gone. His shoebox of an apartment felt large and empty, and there was something invigorating about listening and feeling excitement and affection vicariously through another person. 

By the time he finally put himself to bed that evening Iwai found himself scrolling through this Yusuke’s artwork. He’d never been the sort of guy to know anything or care about art that wasn’t tattooed on his body. He wasn’t refined or educated or particularly artistic in any way that didn’t involve his craft.

But some of his recent work intrigued him. Yusuke was obviously working with reflections just as he’d mentioned during their meeting. There were artistic renditions of spidering cracked glass, fogged over surfaces, sunset colored puddles, figure warping chrome, and icy frost against perfectly cropped panes. His own sleepy eyes slid to his window time and time again as he grew more drowsy, trying to figure out what deep concept he was supposed to be understanding by looking at it.

He fell asleep before he ever found the answer, but he couldn’t help but think about his eyes as he tipped over the edge into sleep. The color of something rough, unforgiving and opaque with the ability to produce light and emotions. It was a sort of magic.

\----

It was four days before Yusuke showed back up to his shop. The rain was still present, a dull, intrusive mist this time around. When the man walked into his shop he was not soaked to the bone, but his hair was frizzy looking and his skin dewy with moisture all the same. He was wrapped up in an actual coat this time around. Given some of the conversations he’d had with Akira, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was his friend that reminded him to put it on.

Yusuke didn’t wander around this visit. Instead, he set his thin shoulders and marched up to the counter. There was a fire to him this time that had Iwai cocking a brow and letting the feet of his chair fall back to the floor from where he’d been reclined back.

“Er...hey there…” Iwai began, not at all sure how he felt about this change in attitude, but before he could ask what Yusuke needed, the younger man cut him off.

“Be the model for my art piece!”

Words felt trapped in his throat as his jaw dropped, and Iwai just barely caught the stick of his long eaten lollipop before it could tumble to the floor. This was a joke. This was a joke, right? Akira put him up to this.

“I have been unable to capture the essence of this painting. I thought it was merely the need for the armor, but I know now I need someone to fill it. And I know now that what it's missing is you.”

“...Excuse me?” This fucking kid thought that he was the person meant to be a knight in literal shining armor for a piece about being a hero? He was out of his damned mind. “Listen kid, you’re clearly havin’ a moment or whatever. That’s fine. But I’m an old asshole. I’m not what you’re lookin’ for.”

Yusuke’s eyes hardened then, going sharp like daggers, and Iwai could admit a little squirm of interest deep in his belly.

“You are exactly what I need for this piece. Akira talks about you all the time, did you know? He says that you protected him on the inside when he was awaiting his trial, that you look after your son. You have a good heart. You care about others. I knew the moment you looked at me when I came into your shop. I could see it in your eyes. They are so tired and so _angry._ "

Iwai’s mind flashed back to his split second concern about how much the man ate before rushing just as quickly to his amused concern over his coat just today. It made him feel too exposed and irritated, and Iwai glared immediately.

“You don’t know shit about me, kid. I’m not this hero you think I am. That was you and Akira and your friends. So if you wanna buy somethin’ I’ll help you out, but otherwise you need to get out of my face.”

And he _was_ in his face. The gall of this man was absurd. Yusuke had leaned forward over the glass casing until he was hovering just inches away from him, those blazing gunmetal eyes reflecting things he didn’t understand. He could see his own angry reflection there, small and pinched and unflattering.

Iwai expected him to angrily stomp off, but Yusuke was already in the habit of surprising him after only two meetings.

“I’m sorry, Iwai, I can’t do that. I cannot leave this shop until you agree to sit for me. I don’t require you to wear the armor or even pose, but I _need_ your eyes for this piece. Please. I can’t pay you, but if you have need of something I can give you then I will.”

His voice was practically trembling, so full of emotion and passion that it couldn’t hold its strength. Iwai felt uncomfortable and flat footed, positive that he was treading some line and was about to fall right off. 

He didn’t want him to do stupid poses or wear the armor. Iwai was bored and lonely and, hell, he could admit he was also curious. It made his shoulders slump in defeat.

“Eugh. Fine. Whatever. Give me your damned number before I change my mind.”

And he does. Yusuke was all business when he wasn’t achingly, bewilderingly over-confident and emotional. By the time the man had left his shop, Iwai felt like he had aged another ten years, and he slumped down into his chair even as his phone buzzed.

It was an address and meeting time to which he angrily typed back a positive response before tossing his phone onto the counter a little too roughly.

One day his fucking bleeding heart was going to ruin him.

\----

Iwai wasn’t surprised to find out that Yusuke was living in a dorm. He wasn’t surprised it was tiny and only barely functional as a living space. What he was surprised by, however, was just how uninhabitable it was.

The moment Yusuke had opened the door and ushered him inside it was apparent immediately that this kid was a mess. The front door didn’t open all the way because there were large canvases tucked against the wall where it would normally swing over. What followed was a deeply embarrassing and stupid shuffle in the entry way where Yusuke tried to get the door closed and Iwai tried to get his shoes off all in the same two feet of space.

They survived somehow.

He walked down the small hallway to the main living and sleeping space, but he wouldn’t be so generous as to call it that out loud. There was a small bed roll on the floor, a laptop, and a plastic storage bin with clothes inside. 

And every other square inch of the space was all art studio. Canvases as tall as the front door were pushed against the available walls while smaller ones were artfully tetrised against them. A large, paint splattered tarp covered up the floor, and there was an easel set up in the center of the room.

Iwai was genuinely surprised artwork wasn’t blocking his windows too, but then he realized that was likely by design. Art would require good lighting. And there, near the easel, was a chair. It was a cheap metal folding thing, and on top of it sat the breastplate he’d sold him. It was gleaming and more beautiful than he remembered.

He didn’t need to be told where to go. Iwai walked over and picked up the breastplate, easing down to a sit on the chair and gingerly placing it down onto the ground next to him. He felt incredibly weird just being here. He felt too big for the space. He took up too much room.

He yanked off his hat and mufflers, crushing the fabric of it in his hands as he scowled around at this claustrophobic space that Yusuke called home. And Yusuke, for his part, did look at home. He was busy setting up his station and mixing colors, looking so graceful and sure of himself, obviously in love with painting. There was a reverence to his body that spoke to Iwai and reminded him of the feeling in his chest each time he worked on a weapon model he was passionate about.

It was enough to gently wipe his scowl away, and Iwai fell still and calm. He wasn’t afraid to be looked at and he could hold still for long periods of time. His time with the Yakuza and sitting for tattoos or during stakeouts had more than prepared him to be a good model. 

Still, those dark eyes moving over him, sweeping across imperfections and settling pins into features like a crime scene was still unsettling.

The dorm itself was freezing, and Iwai hated the dull ache of cold that settled into his bones. He couldn’t imagine how Yusuke felt with no meat on his body. He couldn’t help but notice while he sat that there was little to nothing that signaled living in this space. There was a mini fridge, but he heard no hum from it. He spotted no trash can to hold empty food containers. There were no packages of ramen or bottles of soda or bags of chips. Nothing. It made him worry. 

\----

The next time Iwai showed up to sit for Yusuke he brought dinner with him. It wasn’t anything crazy, but presented the udon to the younger man along with a bottle of water and watched him graciously thank him up and down before diving into it.

He remembered the few times he witnessed Akira eating a meal, and he couldn’t help but make that comparison to Yusuke now. He ate like the food would be snatched away from him. It was too fast and intense, and he made a million sounds of pleasure with each bite and slurp of noodles and broth.

He finished before Iwai had gotten five bites in, and he found himself staring at Yusuke while blinking slowly in shock. 

The experiment had answered some questions for him though. Iwai finished his meal and sat on the rickety metal chair to pose for him, staring off out the window at the skies that had finally turned blue that afternoon.

\----

Iwai started trying to talk to him by the third session. The silence was always comfortable, but Iwai found that he couldn’t keep to himself that day. His son had called him at work the hour before, and the words spilled out of him in messy, gravel toned waves.

He had a girlfriend now. She was some sweet girl from the state of Ohio who liked to go to the zoo with him on weekends and enjoy the lizards, snakes, and geckos. His classes were going well. His room mate managed to melt an instant ramen. Sushi was terrible there. Tacos were great.

He rambled more than he should, fiddling with his hat in his hands and digging his ragged nails along the scars on his knuckles. He couldn’t remember the last time he had simply chatted out loud like this with anyone. It was always business, always short, always over. 

As he finally ran out of things to say he looked over to Yusuke to find the man staring back at him. His eyes looked different today. Even in the sunlight and blue skies that filtered in, the grey color seemed darker than ever before, eating the light.

They were the saddest and hungriest eyes he had ever seen in his life.

He felt devoured in emotive cement and petrichor, struck dumb and still by the sway and drip of blue hair that was in between styled and too long that feathered against the soft column of his throat.

Iwai looked away. He didn’t want to, but he had to.

There was a desperate abyss living inside of Kitagawa Yusuke, and Iwai knew well how the fable of the crow and the pitcher went. He had to be filled one pebble at a time or Iwai was liable to fall in.

\-----

After that day, Iwai found himself making excuses. 

The vendor gave him too much food and he didn’t want it to go to waste. He was going through Karou’s old things that he’d left behind and maybe Yusuke could fit into some of these clothes. This brand of ramen was on sale so he bought more than he had room for. 

Before he knew it, Iwai was texting Yusuke almost every day for one stupid reason or another. The over-the-top way he always sounded in texts was becoming charming instead of irritating, and with each session he sat for Yusuke the less deep, unfathomable need he saw in his eyes.

Iwai only wished he knew what scumbag had put it there. He’d like nothing more than to flex old muscles he hadn’t used in twenty years. It never made sense to him that all the scars he wore were for stupid reasons. He didn’t have any he earned for doing the right thing.

That was for heroes though. Normal people had scars from mistakes, not from good deeds.

It was three months later that Yusuke finally showed him the painting. It wasn’t what Iwai expected. The knight stood half submerged in a pond. The water glowed and the shadow of lily pads broke up that lighting in a million different ways before it ever reached the polished metal of the armor. 

The background suggested trees and stars, but was so dark it was difficult to make out, every bit of the light focused on the water and the knight. And the knight was most certainly modeled after him. The lines around the eyes, the eye color, the shape of the nose, the jaw, the wideness of the mouth. It was all him, but a side of himself he had never once seen in the mirror.

The expression on his face was painful, deep and mercurial. At first he thought it was sadness, then anger, and now the longer he stared he couldn’t help but wonder if it was simply helplessness. 

“...Wow. Kid- I...you’re really good. You know that right?”

Yusuke nodded, but his eyes were downcast, his arms crossed against his middle in a defensive way that Iwai had never seen before. He seemed so diminished that his first instinct was to stupidly wrap his arms around him, but he firmly kept them at his side.

“What’s wrong?”

The younger man’s frown deepened, and he shook his head, something stony building in his eyes. “It’s wrong,” he said, some fire bursting out with his words. “It’s not the embodiment it was supposed to be. It says something different now and I need to start over.”

Iwai’s brows knit together, and he did chance reaching out this time, pressing one hot palm against the back of Yusuke’s neck.

“...I told you I wasn’t the one you were lookin’ for. Not for this. But er, this? This ain’t bad. It’s good. You’re hard on yourself.”

Yusuke shrugged and moved away from Iwai’s touch, angrily running his long, paint stained fingers through his hair. Iwai had the sudden urge to grab his hands and hold them still, hold him against his chest until the angry thrumming in his frame subsided. 

Instead, he sighed and put the canvas down, his spine straight with intention. “Then we’ll do it again. This time _you_ talk.”

\----

Yusuke did. Iwai had to force it some days, but quickly enough he had Yusuke talking during their sessions. At first it was simple. He talked about art. He talked about art _a lot_. He talked about food. He talked about coffee. 

And eventually he talked about his mother. And Madarame. And the Phantom Thieves. 

And loneliness.

Iwai listened every day and nodded along, offering no real words of wisdom and he was fucking awful at sympathy or reassurance, but he was there and he listened. He brought him food and coffee and talked to the building owner to get his hot water fixed.

He started inviting him to his apartment too.

It was stupid. One night it got so cold Iwai was genuinely worried enough that he demanded Yusuke come to his place instead. He fed him frozen pre-made tonktatsu and cold beer while they watched mindless tv. Yusuke slept on the couch underneath a heated blanket and Iwai spent the night staring at his ceiling and feeling like something fragile and expectant inside of him and his tiny, pathetic life had just shifted and changed.

He’d taken a video on his phone of Yusuke talking dramatically at the tv, tipsy and well-fed and content. Iwai had sent it to Akira as a way to show him that his friend was taken care of. That they were both doing well.

It was as his eyes drooped for sleep that he received a text back.

_He looks happy with you._

\----

It was a routine to have Yusuke over at his apartment for painting now. He had the spare room after all now that Kaoru was gone. The tarp and easel and paint collection are all moved, and Yusuke seemed very pleased to work there instead of his dorm. 

It was warmer and had more space to breathe. Iwai watched Yusuke’s entire body language morph over the next few weeks. He practically blossomed and grew like a flower or something equally poetic and pretentious. All that truly mattered was that the empty hunger in his eyes was lessening.

One day while he sat and Yusuke painted, the dark eyed man looked up, cocking his head to the side in a soft rainfall of blue hair. Iwai did his level best not to notice how pretty the slope of his neck was. He’d had too many of those thoughts for comfort these days.

“Akira sent me that video you took of me, you know?”

It was so out of left field that Iwai found himself sitting up straighter, poised to defend himself or argue. Yusuke didn’t sound mad, but the words were accusatory. What could he say? He had done it after all.

“...And?”

Yusuke shrugged, lifting one bony shoulder and leaning in to dab at the canvas with squinted eyes. “It was interesting. Seeing myself like that. Akira sent me some videos he had of me as well. There is something voyeuristic and intimate about watching another version of yourself move and interact.”

Iwai had no idea where Yusuke was going with this. His heart hammered in his chest and for the first time in several years he felt the intense wish for a cigarette pop into his mind like a bad omen. 

Dark eyes lifted from the painting to catch his own across the room. They didn’t look like hungry pits or concrete or even metal today. They were darker and richer and glistening in a way that reminded him of ink without thought.

“I liked the way I looked at you in the video.”

Heat bloomed in the pit of his stomach, unfurling in scorching ribbons to slip between his legs and up to his frantically beating heart. What was happening? What had changed? Why today? What did he want?

Iwai licked his lips and scratched at the stubble on his jaw as he tended to do when he was nervous, eyeing up Yusuke who looked unfairly calm and confident nearby. He was healthier now than he could remember him now that he was eating more regularly and getting more sleep. Everything about him was improving with each passing day, and Iwai could hardly ignore the attraction that had settled into him like a germinating seed the day he showed up in his shop dripping wet and determined.

The words were out of his mouth before he could think twice. “I liked the way you looked at me too.”

Pink spread along Yusuke’s cheeks, and he smiled almost shyly to himself, not looking up but still focusing on the painting. He dabs and strokes at the canvas for a good minute, leaving Iwai to simply wait with held breath. 

“I think I’d like to be filmed again. I have always had difficulty painting emotions like lust or love, and I think it would be helpful to see it in my own eyes. For reference. Would you...be willing to do that for me?”

For reference. Fuck, Yusuke was such a nerd. He liked him way too much.

Iwai rolled his eyes, but a flirtatious smirk spread across his face for Yusuke’s trouble. He relaxed into the chair and sighed, letting his eyes go warm and intense as they trailed all over Yusuke’s frame.

“Like I’ve ever told you no.”

\----

“Are you sure?”

He’d been asking Yusuke that for days. For all that they had flirted and agreed to something that felt very much sexual in nature, neither of them had gravitated towards one another in the interim. Yusuke still showed up and still painted. Iwai still fed him and plied him with snacks and alcohol and television.

They sat closer on the sofa and Iwai was brave enough to slide his arm around his shoulders. If Yusuke was bothered, he didn’t show it. He fell asleep against his chest, in fact, all bony shoulders and too long limbs and hair that was forever falling into his face and gently puffing up with his breaths.

This was different though.

Iwai swallowed and pressed the record button on his camera, walking around the tripod and looking at Yusuke seriously. He had shown up on his doorstep today without his brushes, only a resolve in his eyes and a demand on his tongue that he wanted to be filmed tonight.

It was madness. It was foolhardy. It was reckless, and stupid, and really fucking exciting.

Iwai sat gingerly on the edge of the bed beside Yusuke and stared him down. Yusuke sat with his back straight, his hands balled into soft fists against his thighs. His expression was not one of fear or anxiety, though some nerves definitely clung to the line of his shoulders. 

“It was my idea, was it not? I’m more than sure,” Yusuke said, reaching over with confidence to grab Iwai’s hand and hold it in his own. His eyes shifted to the camera and the little red light watching over them before he scooted that little inch closer and tipped his body forward towards Iwai’s.

He was so young and inexperienced, but so determined. He had given away so many bits and pieces of himself to people who didn’t earn them or deserve them and had spent the past year building himself back up. Iwai had been terrified he was little more than a house of cards, but as he felt chilled, soft fingers against his cheek and the softest lips against his own he knew the truth.

Yusuke had been building an entire house. Cement and glass and nails to protect the vulnerable, unquenchable spirit that lived inside of him. And he had built it with Iwai inside. It was a level of trust he knew he didn’t deserve, but instead of arguing or pushing him away, he wrapped his arm around his waist and tucked him closer as he kissed him back.

He kissed like he painted; broad, sweeping strokes and inquisitive nips of teeth and tongue. His fingers never stayed still, caressing along his stubbled jaw and up into his hair to scratch and gently tug. He paid homage to the silver piercing his ear and smoothed his thumb along the ever deepening lines beneath his eyes. Iwai truly felt like Yusuke could magically scrub away the crows feet and leave him somehow more beautiful than before. If anyone could, it was Yusuke.

Iwai sighed into the kiss, angling his body and deepening it without remorse. He devoured the man who had been slowly stealing his time, his money, his attention, his heart for the past few months. He’d invited a thief into his home, and it felt like triumph to steal his breath in return.

Yusuke tipped his head back, exposing the decadent line of his throat, and Iwai wasted not a second before descending upon it. He peppered hot kisses along the pale skin there, letting the sandpaper of his stubble burn the untouched expanse of it before he finally latched his mouth at the delightful angle where his neck met his shoulder and sucked heavily, letting his teeth roughly drag and score at it until purple blossomed like paint. It was the only sort of art he could offer him, and Iwai had every intention of covering his entire body in similar portraits of his desire.

Even so, he was ever mindful of the camera. Iwai eased around Yusuke’s body until he was on his knees and situated against his back. He peeled his shirt up over his head and tossed it away, wrapping his now bare arms around Yusuke’s body while still kissing at his neck.

Yusuke had wanted to experience lust and see it written across his own face. Iwai could give him that. He began to unbutton the man’s shirt slowly, taking his time and giving him plenty of opportunity to stop things if they went farther than he liked.

Iwai wasn’t prepared for the rush of heat through his body after he finally pulled the shirt off of him to reveal the skinny, long frame underneath. Every line of his body was slender and gentle, guiding his eyes with all of the graceful precision of a paintbrush. He’d never seen anyone quite like him.

The flush on his cheeks stained down his neck and his collar, coloring him pink and blue and gorgeous. He’d never truly understood beauty being used as a weapon before, but here and now Iwai thought he might understand. What would he give up, what lengths would he go to just to make this beautiful man arch his back and moan?

The answer was that Yusuke required very little to give him just that. Iwai reached down around his hips to his fly and made quick work of the button and zipper. It was not the first time he had touched a man. Not by a long shot. But it had still been long enough that just the heated shape of him against his palm through the thin material of his underwear sent spirals of want blazing down his spine.

He could practically envision the red light of the camera reaching out to cover them both in hazy crimson as he finally reached beneath the band of his underwear and eased his cock free to the hungry stare of the lens.

Yusuke’s body surged up into his palm, over eager and frantic, but Iwai kept his other hand against his hip to hold him down. “No rush.”

And there wasn’t. Even so, Iwai knew he wouldn’t last long. It was too new for him. Touch in and of itself was new for him. Affection. Lust. Care. Intimacy of any kind. It was bound to overwhelm him entirely, and Iwai had every intention of easing that transition as best he could.

He wrapped his hand around him and started to slowly drag his fist up and down. His cock was just as long and slender as his body, prettily flushed and aesthetic in his grasp. He had expected no less. He felt scorchingly hot and practically vibrating with barely held together self-control. 

Did he touch himself in that cramped dorm of his, he wondered. Did he lie awake staring at the ceiling, the only truly blank canvas of the room, and paint fantasies across it with his mind while frantically snapping his hips up into the circle of his hand?

The room was filled with nothing but the most delicate of sounds; Yusuke’s soft gasps that stuck in his throat, high and raw and hopeful and the deeper hums of pleasure that rumbled through Iwai’s chest. Everything felt poised on the head of a pin, precarious and fragile and full of breathless anticipation.

Iwai shifted his hand from Yusuke’s hip, letting it drag heavy and callous rough up along his stomach and ribs until he could tease and roll the delicate peak of a nipple beneath his fingertips. Yusuke cried out, thrusting his chest forward more, bending his spine in a hungry angle, demanding with every inch of his body for more of anything Iwai would give him. 

Needy. Hungry. _Starved_.

Iwai doubled his efforts, moving his hand over Yusuke’s cock faster, fighting against the careening jump of his hips. His own arousal was pulsing in time with the pulse rushing in his ears, and he lazily grinding himself against his backside just to remind him that there was more to come, more to experience, more to feel.

The other man was practically squirming against his chest by that point, rolling his entire body in desperate waves, shaking and shuddering with every new swipe of Iwai’s tongue against his ear. He was holding himself so tightly together, and Iwai smirked against his neck and tightened his hand around him.

“Shh. I’ve got you. Let go,” he whispered, his hand a blur of movement and he could just imagine what this video was going to look like, but his mind was so focused on Yusuke that everything else was just background noise.

Yusuke moaned, clapping one hand against his mouth while the other slammed down to grasp at Iwai’s wrist while it was still working frantically. He could feel the pleasure bubble up in him like a champagne bottle, rushing and coursing through his system, sending cascades of ever tightening, straining, reaching pleasure until the barrier broke.

The hot splash of Yusuke’s orgasm against his fingers was agonizingly sexy, and Iwai wrapped his arm around his chest to hold him tightly through his thrashing and ravenous convulsions. He’d never seen anyone come like this, not this raw and open and completely unabashed. He laid everything out without shame or apology, and as he finally went slack and heavy against his chest Iwai had to admit that he’d never seen anything more sexy and beautiful in his goddamn life.

He held him through the sudden exhaustion, rubbing at his stomach and soothing him with soft nothings in his ear. It took him several minutes to calm, but eventually Yusuke sat up, turning around in his grasp to kiss him.

When he pulled back and opened his eyes Iwai could feel his insides trill with bright golden excitement.

For the first time since they had met, his eyes were sated, full, and content. Whatever hungry void had called Yusuke home seemed driven back and made miniscule. All that was left was sleepy euphoria and the most dream-like smile Iwai had ever seen.

\----

The painting Yusuke had finally deemed worthy still featured Iwai’s face as a knight, but the subject matter was entirely different. In place of the lit up pond was now a well, but instead of the dark, gaping space to denote its depth, Yusuke had painted it overflowing, crystal clean waters rushing down the stone sides and to the grass below.

The knight with Iwai’s face stood poised at the lip, gauntlet clad hands pressed to the stone and his face peering forward and down with a sense of soft curiosity and wonder across his features. And from the water there was a pale hand reaching out, but the gentle positioning and feathery array of the fingers suggested romance instead of horror. The very tips of the fingertips kissed the knight’s face and all around them where there had once been dark trees and night sky were the blues, greens, and pinks of early dawn through flower covered trees.

It was so beautiful that, for the first time, Iwai felt like he might understand art. He stared at it in deep thought, forgetting for a moment how stuffy he felt in this suit or how uncomfortable he had felt hearing another patron nearby pointing at him and the painting with obvious understanding who was the subject.

He felt familiar fingers slide up beneath his suit jacket to rest on his back, and Iwai tipped his head just enough to see Yusuke out of the corner of his eyes. He stood tall and beautiful, hair dripping around his face like the water from the well. He looked happy and pleased with himself, a smirk causing his features to go almost fox-like.

“I like this one better.”

Iwai smiled and nodded, draining his glass of champagne and patting his hip.

“I like it better too.”


End file.
